Like a River Glorious
Page 68

Something about her voice, as unguarded as I’ve ever heard it, makes me reach up with my hand and grab hers. “Me too,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand back, but then she shakes it off and brusquely resumes her work with the dishes.
A few minutes later, she leaves me to stew in my own worries. No one returns to tell me what’s happening, so I determine to find out for myself. But when it’s time to make my daily visit to the mine, Wilhelm blocks the doorway, shaking his head.
“I have to go to the mine,” I insist. “Every day. My uncle’s orders.”
Again he shakes his head.
I frown. “Not today, huh?”
He nods, once.
In the distance, a single rifle shot rips the air. Wilhelm winces.
I go back inside.
To make the time pass more quickly, I practice my penmanship and think of all the things I could write that would destroy Hiram’s reputation. I pace. I sweep the entire cabin, save for my uncle’s bedroom, and shake out all the rugs.
It’s hours later when my uncle returns.
“What happened?” I ask. “What did you do?”
He hangs his hat on its peg. “I dealt with it.”
“How?”
He collapses into his rocking chair and lifts one foot toward me. “Help me with my boots?”
I swallow against nausea as I approach and kneel before him. My fingers squelch in muck as I grab the bottom of his boot. “How?” I repeat.
“Dilley shot an Indian as reparation for his friend.”
My hands on his boot freeze. “Even though the Indians are innocent?”
“That’s your opinion.”
I pull off the boot and set it beside me on the floor. “Which one?”
“What do you mean?”
“Which man did Dilley kill?”
“How should I know? A younger fellow. I’m letting Dilley turn in the head for the bounty. Hopefully that will help keep him cooled off.”
He stares down at me as I pull off the other boot, and it feels like spiders are crawling all over my skin.
“Leah, I want you to stay inside this cabin for a few days. Just until everyone’s settled down. No visits to the mines.”
“Please—”
“You will obey me in this, Leah. No arguments. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
But I need to keep fetching gunpowder. The plan depends on me. Or maybe I’ve smuggled out enough by now. I just don’t know, and I hate not knowing.
“Surely by tomorrow—”
“You will spend the days practicing your penmanship. If your slop bucket fills, Mary or Wilhelm will dispose of it. You are not to leave the cabin for any reason. Do you understand?”
My hands are shaking now, my heart pounding. I blink fast to keep tears from pooling. I hate feeling so helpless. I hate that he controls every hour of my every day. I hate him.
“I can take care of myself!” I say. “You said you want me to familiarize myself with—”
The backhand is so sudden it’s like a thunderclap to my face. I fall back onto the floor as my vision blurs and tears pour down my face. My cheek starts to sting and then throb in earnest. I put my fingers to my cheekbone. I’m going to have a mean bruise, for sure and certain.
“I don’t want to tie you up during the day,” he says, almost kindly. “But I will if I have to.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything. Still cupping my cheek with my hand, I just nod.
 
 
Chapter Twenty-Three

That night he ties me up again, tighter than ever, and my illusions of freedom are over. I hardly sleep for the ache in my shoulders and the gnawing pain in my wrists. It’s a relief when morning comes. When Hiram unties me, he bends to press his lips to my forehead and says, “I hope you slept well, sweet pea.” We eat breakfast in silence. Only once does my uncle speak, and only to say, “Remember, you are not to leave the cabin. Wilhelm will be keeping guard outside the door. For your protection.”
I shove a biscuit in my mouth to excuse my lack of response.
After he leaves, I open the door to find Wilhelm on alert, his hand on his holster. He fills the space with his huge body, a barrier to the outside world.
“Don’t worry. I won’t try to leave. I just wanted to give you this.” I hand him a basket full of biscuits.
Slowly he takes it from me, his eyes lingering on my face. No, it’s my cheek that’s caught his attention, and the huge bruise pillowing there. Wilhelm frowns.
“Knock on the door if you get thirsty,” I say. “We have plenty of leftover coffee, still warm on the stove.”
He just stares at my cheek.
I’m cooped up in the cabin for days. I have no idea what’s going on, but I can make some guesses. The laudanum could be added to the sugar-water barrels, or someone’s canteen. The gunpowder could create a thunderstorm of chaos. Maybe the plan is to blow up the fort wall, so Muskrat’s people can escape. Or blow up the foremen’s shack and destroy all the weapons. Or just blow up the thanksgiving dinner itself and get rid of the whole Missouri gang. In that case, the laudanum would be used to drug the poor saps stuck with guard duty, and that’s how Muskrat’s people will escape the fort.
Several possibilities. Any of them might work.
But is Muskrat’s plan going forward? Did we get enough gunpowder out of the mine? Are Jeff and Tom all right? I’ve lost track of the days, but surely the celebration of thanksgiving is fast approaching.
Mary ignores me when she comes to cook, won’t even meet my eye. I spend the days listening through the walls for any sound, any clues. I practice my penmanship endlessly. It’s a strange thing, being bored and scared all at once. I think I might die of it.
One morning, as we sit down to breakfast, Uncle Hiram says, “I want you to bathe today. Mary will help you fill the tub. Press your dress. The new one. I want you looking your best tonight.” His voice is stern, almost angry, though I’m not sure why.
“Why?” I’m breathless with hope. Maybe he means to let me out.
“Reverend Lowrey is here. There’s to be a tent meeting, and you shall attend. Fitting, don’t you think, to have some church the night before our Thanksgiving? It will get everyone into the proper state of somber gratitude.” He frowns as he says it, staring off at nothing.